murderer. gone is my mother tongue. imprisoned away.
but her name, like honey, dripped from my lips, when i begged her to stay—

you leech. claiming your territory, see my iron-stained veins.
my identity dissipates. i once called the sun’s name—

angelica. my own voice sounds foreign to me, when i call you.
fading into the background, left among the choir, same song, same name:

angelica. like the fleeting wind, she danced her seductive ways.
onto her next victim. fluid paths of pain.

and now, all i know is her name.
my own, a mark of shame: what is my name?

By Adithi Raghavan

Biography:

Adithi Raghavan is an emerging poet from Washington State whose poems have been published in several school literary magazines and online publications like the Apprentice Writer. She has a forthcoming publication in the Blue Marble Review. Her writing has also been recognized by the Scholastic Art & Writing Awards. Currently, she is working on her first chapbook.